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I look around this once great country of ours, and I swear to Jeebus, it makes me want to puke. If it’s not the baby killers standing in line for an abortion, it’s some tattooed and pierced teenage deviants locking tongue studs on the coffee shop patio while I’m trying to pick up this months Soldier of Fortune from the newsstand.
But you don’t have to go out to see this crap. Oh no, just watch the friggin’ evening news. The meth labs, the alcoholism, the divorce rate and all the babies born out of wedlock. People too lazy to get off their asses and work just looking for a handout, and then taking their government subsidy and buying booze, coke and whores with it. Well I’m sick of it!
Let me tell you something. I’ve done all that shit. And more. I’ve done shit that would make an airtight porn specialist blush. But I’m 45 years old now. I’ve got a portfolio and a family to look after nowadays. I don’t need that shit anymore. And neither does anybody else. I’ve had quite enough fun for everyone.
When I was a teenager, they didn’t give out condoms in schools. Hell no! Abortion used to be my condom. You think I even considered facing the embarrassment of buying condoms back in my day…AND giving up all the feeling in my pink torpedo, just to get a pack of condoms? C’mon. Let’s do the math here. I must’ve gotten laid about 300 times and I only ever had to drive 3 chicks to the clinic. That’s 1 per hundred. That’s 99% effective, people. Tell Trojan to get back to me when they can beat that. And big deal….so I’d have to move an extra QP of weed to cover the costs if the chick wouldn’t stop bitching about it, or was too much of a baby to throw herself down the stairs. There was plenty more where that came from! Boy, I tell ya…in my prime. In my prime.
But those days are over, my friends. There’s no need for condoms or abortions at 1776 John Birch Lane. No siree, not now that I got snipped. And that means there ain’t no need in the U.S. of frickin’ A.
Before labor unions ruined this country, I used to be in the UAW. We got laid off for 6 months at 80% pay once, and when that ran out, I got another six months on my hard earned unemployment. Having to get up once a week, wake and bake, and go get 3 employment denials was pretty hard work. But it did leave time for some 30 something hi-jinks, let me tell ya! Every Wednesday, me and Lenny would meet up bright and early at 11 am to catch Price is Right. Were we stoned? If you knew Lenny, you wouldn’t have to ask that question. Anyway, we’d watch PIR, then head to Sammy’s Pool Hall so we could score an 8 ball. We’d pound Jack Daniels and Pabst at Sammy’s and do a few rails in Sammy’s shitter….careful to save enough blow to entice the strippers at Leon’s A-Ho-Go into a little mouth-to-south resuscitation in the alley later that afternoon.
After we were finished with the blow and the ho, we’d always wind up at the Salty Cracker, which is, coincidentally, right next door to the development where I live now. We’d go apeshit in the Cracker, and after me and Lenny inevitably got thrown out the front door for grabassing or running up on the bandstand, we’d go back to my place, wake my old lady up, and make her cook up whatever was available in the kitchen. Then we’d pass out before it was ready.
Do you think I do that kind of stuff anymore? I’m middle management, bub. I put on a short sleeve shirt and a tie every day and I EARN my damn paycheck. I don’t have time for that tomfoolery. So neither do you.
Speaking of the Salty Cracker, I must tell you that I am now the President of my development’s homeowner’s association, and I have decided that the Cracker must be closed DOWN! Nothing but loud music and drunks pouring out of that place and waking up the neighborhood. To say nothing about the CHILDREN! Sure, there were children in this neighborhood when I used to stumble out of the Cracker, but you’re forgetting about 2 important things. One- I don’t do that anymore. And two- they weren’t my children. Enough is enough. I’ve been there, done that. It looks like you’re the one who’s flagged now, Cracker! And all of your would-be patrons!
The fact of the matter is, I just can’t do that kind of shit anymore. My body can’t take it. And sometimes it makes me sad and angry. And I don’t think it’s fair that everybody else gets to keep doing it. But nobody listens to an ex-degenerate with an axe to grind.
But you know who they will listen to? They’ll listen to the Lord, boy howdy. And the Lord says all kinds of stuff about shit being wrong with the things I used to do.
I know the Lord wants to help me stamp out all vices all over the world. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have let my wife buy a computer, and he wouldn’t have sent my son to teach me how to use it.
With God as my beard, there is no limit to the number of web forums I can visit where I can rail against the evils of sex, drugs, booze, women, abortion, smoking, gambling, gays, ….you name it! I’m in The Lord’s Ar-mee. And Fun is public enemy Numero Uno.
The only fun I allow myself these days is the transcendental feeling of self righteousness I get from sneering and jeering at all the people who act like I used to, when I still could. But make no mistake, it is fun. Well, maybe not fun. But it almost fills the hole that joy and hope used to occupy.
I just wish I didn’t have to support the Republicans to sell this holier than thou business. My net income is really taking it in the ass these days.
“Hard Candy” is a movie I’ve seen sitting on the shelves of my video store for months, but never figured worth the 4 bucks and change to rent. Just caught it “OnDemand” for free on Showtime OnDemand this evening.
I really liked this film.
The movie is more than slightly reminiscent of “Death and the Maiden”, where Sigourney Weaver believes she has captured the torturer/rapist from her days in an Argentine (supposedly) prison camp. That film unfolds like a 3 act play, where we watch Weaver ratchet up the stakes in an attempt to get a confession out of Ben Kingsley’s alleged evil “doctor”. The audience is left to keep guessing right up to the very end: Is He Or Isn’t He?
Much of the same thing here, with a few nods to Reese Witherspoon’s “Freeway” to boot.
Comparing “Hard Candy” to those two films doesn’t take away the fact that this film feels very much alive and fresh on its own.
From what I’ve learned, the term “Hard Candy” refers to underage girls on the internet (which makes me wonder how I’m going to do an Image search for a poster for this movie without ending up on some watch list).
As the film opens, we see only a computer screen with two screen names engaged in a provacative chat room conversation; Thonggrrrl 14 and Lensman319. The chat informs us that 14 year old Thonggrrrl is going to have her older sister drive her to the mall to meet the 32 year old Lensman. During the meeting, the camera slowly pans past a bulletin board with a “MISSING” poster for another local teenage girl.
The two end up at Lensman’s condo, and from there on out, it’s a taught, table turning, nail biting, wince inducing roller coaster ride. The Big Bad Wolf has definitely caught the WRONG Little Red Riding Hood.
It would be impossible for me to overdo my praise for Ellen Page as Hayley aka Thonggrrrl. The 18 year old Page looks the part of a 14 year old, and gives the character the all too believable guile of a teen with wisdom beyond her years. It is an electric performance that will cement this actress in the mind of any viewer, and hopefully, Hollywood casting directors, for years to come.
Patrick Wilson also gives a top notch performance as Jeff aka Lensman. Particularly because Jeff spends the majority of the film without any way to express emotion other than with his voice and face.
This film is far from perfect, and there are a few holes that require some work to maintain the suspension of disbelief. Which is why it’s a bit weird to say that it’s also very smart and doesn’t pander to the audience.
But any movie that is a 1 set, 2 character stage piece that bristles and pops the way this film does speaks volumes about the director, writer, cinematographer and actors. But make no mistake. This is Page’s movie through and through. She has made damn sure that nobody, NOBODY, ever forgets Thonggrrrl 14.
I’m a pizza fanatic.
Like Christoper Walken to the cowbell, I got a fever. And the only prescription, is more pizza.
I go out for pizza, and I have to go large pie. Even if it means bringing half of it or more home with me. It just doesn’t make sense to go medium pie. Medium pies are miniscule compared to the big, and there’s usually like a 2 dollar difference in price. As a result, I usually have some cold pizza in my fridge on any given day of the week.
Being the pizza connoisseur that I am, I aim to try to recreate that fresh hot pizzeria taste with my leftover slices.
Forget the microwave. Pizza disaster. Oven baking or skillet frying…..ehhh. Here’s the ticket, and you can thank me later.
Foreman Grill!
That’s right. That lean mean fat grilling machine is the best appliance you own for reheating a two day old, cold slice of heaven. You got heat from the bottom and heat from the top, combining to give those slices a warm crispy bottom crust and bubbly cheesy top…almost….I said ALMOST….as good as when it was first out of the oven.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. Won’t the Foreman Grille crush my pizza and turn the cheese into a burnt mess? Why, yes, it will. If you don’t use my patented formula for success.
Grab a candlestick holder, a DVD case, a tall pepper can….whatever the hell you can find that’s the right size, and prop the top of the grill up just high enough so that it doesn’t touch the cheese. Plug it in, check on it occassionaly, and take it off when the cheese is at desired level of doneness. Takes about 4 minutes.
I shouldn’t have to tell you these things.
The temperature was hot in the Philadelphia Phillies clubhouse this Sunday, while champagne flowed freely as the streaking Phils celebrated their first trip to the post-season in 14 years.
But one place that was very far from warm yesterday? Hell.
Speaking to reporters concerning the amazing temperature drop was Satan’s Press Secretary, Rev. Jerry Falwell.
“Yes, it was quite chilly around here yesterday,” commented the deceased Reverend. ”I wouldn’t say that the place froze over, but it was a cold, cold day indeed. Some places down here actually got some snow.”
Reports from around the normally firey underground confirmed that a snowball made from yesterday’s freakish precipitation would actually last for several hours in the frigid temperatures.
This was good news for Hell’s drunken Philly fan sector, who, between cheers for the Phils, siezed the opportunity to pummel hundreds of former shopping mall Santa Claus’s with snowballs. The Claus Posse is doing an undetermined amount of time in Hell’s half-way house, Purgatory, for building up and then dashing the hopes of millions of children around the world. The Santa contigent was charged with, among other things, not delivering more than a million ponies as promised, and for failing to prevent thousands of parents from getting divorced.
In related financial news, Hell’s stock market plummeted yesterday, mainly due to a drastic drop in ice water shares. The stock’s price dropped from $2 million per share to an all time low of 50 cents.
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